Survival
by JakRaziel
Summary: The story of a soldier in the daystar war after it ends.
1. The Deed Itself

Survival

Chapter one: The Deed Itself

The boy was eleven years old and living on the streets. I could go in to why he was there and what he had escaped from but the most important thing about him, as far as this tale is concerned, is how he makes his money. He makes a living by selling eco derived drugs, BlueDark to be more precise.

The kid stood in the alleyway waiting for customers to find him, keeping his left hand close to his handgun in case anyone wanted the high without paying for it. Relk Dun stepped round the corner and saw the kid stiffen, ready for trouble. He may have always put his hand on the gun when people came near or it could have been because of Relk's unsavoury appearance, tall, pale, ugly and badly dressed with a prominent scar that began on his chin and passed between his eyes.

"What do you want" the kid said as roughly as he could manage.

"I hear you sell BlueDark I want to buy some."

"How much do you want" The boy was more relaxed now.

"Five doses" they argued over the price for a while before Relk took the bottle and left.

Relk pocketed the liquid that was going to change his life so very soon. He was walking through the back alleys towards the room he rented. Half way down an alleyway he paused. He slowly pulled out his long knife from where it was hidden across his back. The weapon was actually a dirk, a one handed knife with the blade as long as you could have it and still hide it on your person. The handle was leather wrapped and the blade itself was scratched and pitted from years of being forced through metalhead armour. It was more reliable than a gun and more deadly than a knife, it had kept him alive for years. Relk studied every inch of it, and then he unbuckled the scabbard, replaced the blade and left it on the ground.

The building was going to be demolished and replaced in a few months as part of Haven's revitalisation scheme but at the moment it contained 8 small rooms and 2 larger ones which belonged to his landlady. The room Relk slept in contained a bed and a sink, and he had access to a bathroom on the second floor. There was no shower in the building which was partly why he smelt so unpleasant, although even with frequent bathing the stink of metalheads clung for days. Relk washed himself from the sink carefully removing all of the filth that was part of his normal appearance, and then he slowly dressed again. He took the letter he had written earlier that day and propped it up on the sink. Then he picked up a syringe and filled it with the contents of the bottle, five doses of BlueDark is deadly, take 3 doses in the same day and you dicing with the reaper. Relk had taken GreenDark a few times so he knew how to use the needle. For a while he just sat on the bed with the needle poised over a vain. His breathing became shallow and irregular and he began to cry.

"Oh shit I'm so screwed up" The needle plunged down and he emptied it before throwing it weakly across the room. Relk lay down on the bed and waited to die.

Before the drug took effect he smiled, finally he would be free of the world.

This fic was written for Nashi's Shattered Legacy forums where Relk is my R.P. character.


	2. The Letter

Survival

Chapter 2: The Letter

_Relk felt so strong, he would have described the experience as god like if he could have thought the words in his current state. But what he felt and what was happening to him couldn't be more different. Relk's heartbeat had doubled and was still increasing, he was breathing in rapid huge gulps and his limbs were thrashing against the bed. Without help (which Relk would not even be able to register) he would be dead within the hour._

Sergeant Sain of the freedom guard looked at the letter written on cheap paper by a man who wanted to die. The writing varied from the neat, slow and precise penmanship of a man who had little reason to write but took some pride in the ability, to a barely legible scrawl from when the man could care no longer.

To the person who finds this letter.

If you are reading this then there is no point talking about what I'm going to do, but I write this to measure my own life and decide what to do.

I am good at what I do, I kill metalheads and I'm one of the best, but I never made much money from it. I own a communicator during the Praxis years I could be contacted every day for work and never for social calls. When the metalheads were in the city I worked constantly, scouting, teaching people about metalheads and the hunting itself. Since the war ended I haven't been hired once, I have worked in the docks moving crates and using none of the talents that I spent over 20 years learning.

I have few associates left alive and only one friend. I would have killed myself years ago if not for my love of the hunt. Without that I am simply an aging man, with few possessions and fewer allies.

I have wanted to end my life since the torture I received at the hands of the other homeless children. Only fear has kept me alive but if you have nothing left living becomes more to fear than dying.

Before I put down my pen and leave to gather the means of my death I will tell you one thing. I wish to die more that I have wanted anything, so let me if you are standing there and could keep me breathing don't, because I am not living, now I'm just surviving.

Relk Dun

The Sergeant folded the letter and put it on the metallic table alongside the man's other possessions; a metalhead claw necklace, a few bandages, a skinning knife and a communicator listing contacts with the underground, the freedom league, and various organisations that needed a hunter, only very few actual names graced the list.

He walked over to the doctor a large balding man, "So will he be OK?"

"He'll live, that eco he injected was extremely watered down, and even so it was lucky the landlady found him when she did."

They looked over at the man lying in a white bed in the side ward. The doctor spoke again, "As this was an attempted suicide and he doesn't have anyone to take responsibility for him we'll have to hand him over to the mental health people."

In the bed Relk's hand shifted as he stirred. Soon he would wake up and find he was alive. Soon he would have to face the world once more.


	3. Change and Survival

Survival

Chapter Three: Change and Survival

Relk sat in the chair, it was red yacow leather and comfortable, it had been chosen to be reassuring, just as the paint of the walls was chosen to be calming. The man sitting opposite him was a psychologist, and for the past two and a half hours they had talked about the orphanage, the war and his attempt to kill himself. He would have many such sessions as time passed.

And time did pass; now it was now six months since Jak had achieved victory in Kraz. An old ally had come and offered to take custardy of him, less than a week after the first conversation with the physiologist, but Relk had chosen to stay, and then after seven months of treatment he made a decision...

The walking stick made a gentle patting sound. In Haven it would have made a sharp clack or clang as it struck concrete or metal but here it was muffled by grass and leaf mould. Relk had left the city as soon as he was judged stable and headed out beyond where any Guard patrolled and past where the Wastelanders hunted. Now the only civilization he saw were occasional Lurker villages and traces of the precursor's former dominance. The constant walking and the many times he had to fight off metal heads had made him still better at surviving in the wilds. He ate what he could gather, and he used what shelter he could make.

His appearance had changed since he had planned to end his own life, his hair was longer and a beard (made uneven by his scar) had grown from the stubble he had formerly sported. He carried a new dirk on his back alongside an axe which was more used as a tool than a weapon. He was more tanned, more sure and most of all here he looked right, this was where he was meant to be and it showed. The slight frown that had been his usual expression was replaced with a look of determined confidence.

Relk was out here because he had realised the truth about himself, he was not a man for civilisation, not a man for safety. He needed to walk in the rain, to feel the glare of the animal that would try to kill him, to know that no help would come. He might visit the city from time to time, to see if anything was worth staying for, but he saw his life in front of him. Walk over the land seeing new sights every day, kill metalheads, eat what he found, and then die much younger than he would in the city.

Life was violent. Life would be short. Life was exactly as it should be.

End


End file.
